With apologies to Allama Iqbal

'Hum se kab pyaar hai, haan neend tumhain pyaari hai...'

Sighs.

One verse I love quoting out of its original context.

Kuj onj vi raahvaa'n okhiyaa'n san

...
Kuj gal vich ghamaa'n da touq vi si...

Kuj saajan kasar na chori si
Kuj zehr raqeebaa'n ghol dita...

Expendable me

Lack of consideration - aaj ke ghamoun ke akhbaar ki surkhi.
I feel so dispensable. And well, let's face it - it is a truth; the truth. I wish it wasn't.
But I wish for so many things... *flicks her wrist at herself* Who cares!

Looked out the window a while ago to find a little furball frolicking around.

*sighs*

I miss Lizzie so much. Why did she have to go? It breaks my heart...

If you were to die now, in this moment; you'd die a death of a wretched person, won't you love?

I feel sorry for you sometimes.

Elizabeth...

'Dear Allah saaiin,

Liz isn't well. She's too sick to even move on her own. She won't even open up her blue marble eyes at times. She won't even move hear ears like a radar and respond when her name's called out. She...'

An incomplete post in my drafts from yesterday. I don't have to finish it anymore, do I?

Lizzu, we're gonna miss you so bad. I'm sorry you had to go through all that pain, my furball. I'm so sorry my chouttoo baby.

Meeloun ke faaslay tou tay kiye jasakte hain, magar sawal yeh hai ke naseeboun ke faaslay kis tarah tay hon?

I hate him.

I know I shall regret documenting this thought one day... but right now, it is all I know- all I can think of.

Itna bay'hiss koi kaise hosakta hai.

Shaheed ho gaye kuch aur teray laal Hussain (as)

Jo reh gaye hain unhain ab tu he sambhaal Hussain (as)...

...

*sighs*

Watch out: Sappiness ahead.

'Sometimes the strongest people are the ones who love beyond all faults, cry behind closed doors, and fight battles that nobody knows about.'
- Author Unknown

Almost..

It's as if someone pays you to go against me.

I wish you knew that you kill a tiny little part of me with your impertinence, every time. How long before you reach a cent percent, I can only wonder.

Jaanay kab honge kum, is dunya ke ghum...

I was planning to come here to rant about my own self. About my silly issues. But then, all that seems so insignificant now.

I'm fuming. My sister asks me to lower down my voice whenever I'm discussing the attack on the Mehran Base with ami, telling me mum's sitting beside me only. But I cannot. Because I'm furious. I'm on the verge of pulling my hair off my head.

Six (or, so they say) godforsaken militants enter your base, blow up two of the best surveillance aircrafts that you have, martyr ten and injure fifteen or so of your men, and then, mother of all audacities, a couple of them manage to escape despite the fact that the entire area was cordoned off. How, God how? How in the world?

Just six goddamn men! Are you kidding me? You refuse any claims of hostage situations, you refute allegations of a security lapse. What was it then? A nawtankee, or something are you suggesting?

Taliban and al-qaeda sound such clichés to me now. Scapegoats that every and any one can use for every and any thing. They cannot of course be written-off completely with regards to this attack, however. But my grey cells say that navy hasn't really had much to do with these organisation. Had air force or army been under attack, they would sure be somewhere up in my list but it has been naval forces that have been under attack since the last month.

Manmohan Singh is sure as hell concerned about the safety of our nukes, as always. *rolls eyes* A cracker doesn't even go off completely in this country and his concern about our nukes pokes out its head. I'd kill to insert a sock in his mouth (though, a nuclear warhead sounds a lot better). Why aren't we being quick and reckless at drawing our guns and shooting the blame at India? Why not, I say? India has all the reasons, so to speak. They accuse us of everything. Why shouldn't we?

Don't give me the shit that we are mature people, who don't just put blames on others without first figuring things out in a proper manner. Don't give me the shit that we are very responsible people, unlike our dear neighbour. Because to be honest, it has only recently occurred to me that there is an immensely fine line between the so-called maturity and responsibility that has been referred to above and cowardice. And therefore, I cannot really figure out if we are mature and responsible or plain cowards- spineless.

This government has done nothing but led this country deeper into the dumps. I'm done and over with ranting about the catastrophes that Musharraf inflicted upon this land. This government is no better. It has only continued on- not to mention, very ardously, with what that wretched chawkidaar started. But then, any blind person with a tiniest wee of gray matter left would've seen it coming the same day Mr. Ten Percent took the office as the president.

The armed forces of my country that I was once in love with, cannot protect their own base. How in the world do they think they can protect my home? It was their base this time. How long before it's my home?

The state that we are in, is dismal. This is a plot to defame our nation, our armed forces. It's a gigantic game, that we've inadvertently become a part of. And what some of us haven't realised yet is the fact that we are fighting against our own bloody selves.

It wasn't out war. It wasn't!

Allah saa'iin please protect us and this country from everything, for the sake of Muhammad (sawaw) o aal-e-Muhammad (sawaw).

My sister thinks.... I'm going to fall in love.

*agitated sigh*

Oh God no! Please, no! Not me! Not me! Not me too! Damnit.

*runs amuk*

And my axis skewed...

I've become a whiner, and please don't tell me how great a thing whining is, 'cause it's not.

Pa jani scolded me yesterday. A good scolding, it certainly was. He actually shouted at me. But, what amazed me was the fact that while he shouted at me not a single drop of tear rolled down my cheek. Neither did it quiver on my lashes. My eyes were dry. However, I wept later on.

I think I know why. It took a little while to penetrate. It took a little while to process things. It took a little whole to register. The immediate reaction was disbelief. And the pain registered only when my senses restored and clearly reckoned what had just happened.

He was really angry at me. And, it was my fault.

Apologizing is a horrific task, you must agree. It takes a lot of courage. Even if it's your own father in question. It's an ordeal in itself. The mere prospect that your apology may not be accepted makes your heart sink. You wonder if you should go through all the trouble of  screwing up your courage and trampling your ego only to face rejection.

He didn't answer me the first time I said 'sorry'. It shattered my heart into a trillion pieces. He just walked out on me. He returned in the afternoon and I had to apologize because it was killing me. He was dining, I went up to him again, said the same little pathetic word, and expected the same icy response. Something inside me was stabbing me. There was no reaction, yet again. My face went all red and my eyes found themselves unable to hold back any longer. My grip on the chair's back grew tighter. All I could manage to say was a meek 'sorry'. This time he heard.

He looked up and hugged me, resting his cheek on mine. And that was it for me. I broke into sobs.

I'm a very bad person.

...

Aslan died...

He died. I'm still looking at him again and again, hoping against hope that he might just move. He was my friend. Actually, the only friend at home these days, for the fact that I've been bickering with everyone else at home. He was the best. Didn't used to say a word. Just used to hear me out quietly, screaming his name to wake him up each morning before leaving for work and every evening after returning from work. I used to actually spend hours with him. I literally used to lose track of time.

I miss him. I wept so much. I wanted to cry just the way I used to when I was a kid and complain to Allah Saa'iin. Just the way I complained, when Nida died in a car crash in Riyadh. Just the way I complained, when Amma jaan died. But, I cannot. Because, I have grown-up. I know I cannot complain, because I have no such right. All these people (and now Aslan) belonged to Him more than they did to me. They were never mine. They were and are His creatures, since always. 

Z asked me, if I wanted another turtle. I replied with a blunt 'no', I said I shall think about it after the winters were over. It isn't about a turtle - any turtle. It was about Aslan. 

What will I tell Eeman and Amnah, when they'll ask me about Aslan? 

Why did you have to die, my friend?

I'm sorry, Aslan. May be I didn't take enough care of you...

Sighs.

Chronicles of Ann, the Outlandish- FILTERED!

I knew I shouldn't have told you. I knew it all along. And, yet I did. I am so naive. Well actually, naive is a very decent word. I am an idiot. Yes, that sounds much better.

I wish I could have talked to you about any and every thing. I wish I didn't have to filter my chronicles, my stories before narrating them to you.

I talk too much, no. I won't now. At least, I'll try not too.

You lied, you know. We aren't friends. We can never be.

And, isn't that a tragedy?

*smirks*

Broken, are we?

'Don't all of us carry a broken heart? Some are chipped while others are... severely fissured. Broken, nonetheless.'

I shall mend yours. One day, I shall. Until then, we'll have to wait. And wait, we shall.

The silent night, on whose thorax we laid. And, you whispered in my ears, with a gentle tone, the secrets of your past and present. And I heard, not just with my ears but through every single cell in my body.

Your voice grew heavier; burdened with the weight of your grief and your throat welled up. I listened. I listened as if this might as well be the last time I may hear a sound.

I tried to reach out to you but, all my opened arms met was... cold thin air. You were, but a faint voice that echoed in the silence of the night. You were, but a voice, my dear.

And so, it doesn't matter...

You know what 'brain dead' means, right? But do you know what 'feel dead' means? It's like being emotionally dead, you see. I have a tag amongst my Labels that says, 'Emotional Floods'. I think I should have another - 'Emotional Drought'. Ha. I don't know. I am failing to feel. I have grown pretty much numb. For some reason, this doesn't-matter-to-me attitude has undertaken me and hence, nothing no more seems to matter. I cannot decide if it is a good thing or a bad thing. The only thing that I am realizing is that it gets scary sometimes.

Nothing rings any bells anymore. Nothing strikes the heart's chords anymore. Perhaps, my chords broke down. Perhaps, it was I who broke them. Whatever it was, it doesn't matter now. It feels as if I have let off everything. It feels as if I have given in to the rushing torrent of time and now it will take me where ever it wants. During the course, I might hit some rocks. I might injure myself a little, perhaps. I can also get deposited on a river bank.  And if not, then I will ultimately be drained into the sea. But does it matter? I don't think so. *smirks*

You know I failed a course. *smiles* Yeah. Yeah. I failed and I am smiling. See, I told you nothing matters anymore. Had my result on the 23rd and I failed one out of 3 courses that I attempted. Corporate Reporting was an evil wizard, trust me. The exam went awful so I wasn't expecting anything great. Anyhow, so I failed for the first time in my life. And what was my reaction to it? Ha. I didn't feel a thing. Not a single drop of tear. Trust me. I have cried at scoring badly in exams. I remember my AS Level, I scored a B in Economics. My parents were in Islamabad that day and I cried so much over the phone. I cried so much. I remember my grade in General, I was in such denial. I was shattered. But this time, when I have not just scored low, but I actually have flunked. I am too indifferent to care. The moment I viewed my result, my reaction was as if I was looking at someone else's result. I felt as sad as I would have if someone I merely knew would have failed. It was a surprise. Not my result, my reaction.

I am hurt. But it doesn't ache. So, I guess I am fine for the time being. It feels as if I have been anesthetized. I feel nothing. This is insane. I don't like it much.

I have to go. I have these irksomely lengthy Notes to Accounts to read from our client's Annual Reports and then I also have to skim through SOX 4.0.4 and AS.5. Ugh. Oh yes. I started working from Monday. It's good. Err... okay... no.. it's just fine. You know in approx. three years or so, I am the first girl that they have hired in this dept. Sighs. I'll leave the rest to your imagination for the time being. Haven't been able to write about it. Haven't you noticed the teeny weeny length of my last few posts. I've been a little a busy and a lot tired. But I'll write about it soon insha'Allah.

P.S. Bj, I miss you yaar!

Mere humdum, mere dost...

I was all pepped up to come up with a "happy" post but I am afraid it doesn't seem likely anymore. Oh and by the way, I shall tell you something. It is a lot easier to write up a somber, gloomy, bitter or a stingy post. It is very hard to come up with a post that is happy and a fair piece of writing simultaneously- at least for me it is. Even when I am not sad I can write fair expressions that howl melancholy. The reason being that for some reason sadness appeals me. I find it attractive- beautiful, in fact. This does not mean in any way at all that I like being sad. No, I merely said that for some inexplicable reason I feel drawn towards sad things. Where as happiness, is sort of elusive and a little eccentric as well. *smiles*

Anyways, this is a nazm by Faiz Ahmed Faiz that I first read when I was pretty young and even though I could hardly understand it, I fell in love with it.

Gar mujhey is ka Yaqee'n ho, mere Humdum, mere Dost

Gar mujhey is ka Yaqee'n ho keh tere Dil ki thakan

Teri Aankho'n ki udaasi, Tere seene ki Jalan

Meri Dil'joi...... mere pyar se mit jaye gi

Gar mera Harf-e-Tassalli woh Dawa ho jis se

Jee uthey phir tera Ujra howa Baynoor Dima'gh

Teri Peshani se Dhul jain yeh Tazleel ke Daa'gh

Teri Beemar Jawani ko shifa ho jaye

Gar mujhey is ka Yaqee'n ho, mery Humdam mery Dost...!

Roz-o-shab, sham-o-sehar main tujhey Behlata Rahoo'n

Main tujhey Geet sunata Rahoo'n... halkey... shiree'n

Aabsharo'n ke... Baharoo'n ke... Chaman zaro'n ke Geet

Aamd-e-subh ke... mehtaab ke... sayyaro'n ke Geet

Tujh se main husn-o-muhabbat ki Hiqayaat kahooN

Kaisey maghroor haseenao'n key Barfaab se Jism

Garm hatho'n ki Hararat se Pighal jatey hen

Kaisey ik chehrey key thehrey hoye manoos Naqoosh ,

Dekhtey Dekhtey yaklakht Badal jatey hain

Kis tarah Aarz-e-mehboob ka shaffaf Belou'r

Yak-ba-Yak Bada-e-Ahmar se Dehhak jatay hain

Kaisey Gulchee'n key liye jhukti hai khud Shakh-e-Gulab

Kis tarah Raat ka Ewaan mehak jata hai

Yuunhi Gata raho'n, Gaata raho'n teri khatir

Geet Bunta raho'n, Betha raho'n teri khatir

Per mere Geet, Tere Dukh ka mudawa hee nahi

Naghma Jarrah nahi, Moonis-o-Ghamkhaar sahi

Geet Nashtar to nahi, Marham-e-Aazaar sahi

Tery Aazaar ka Chara nahi, nashtar key Siwa

Aur yeh Saffak maseeha mery Qabzey me nahi

Is Jaha'n key kisi Zeeruuh key Qabzey me nahi

Haan magar...

Tery Siwa, Tery Siwa, Tery Siwa...!!

Once upon a time..

"I loved rain too, once upon a time. I am not very sure anymore... "

It rained. But it did not matter to me. This time it was just drops of water falling off the sky. A mere weather phenomenon.

My life was never multi-coloured. It has been in monochrome for a long time now except for some stray splashes of colours that spill over from different people and their lives. However, it does not bother me except but when I think of you. You have painted your life with brightest colours so much so that when I look at you my eyes hurt, they sting. Whereas, when I look back at myself, whatever I see is almost always in grayscale.

Sighs.

I am getting tired of my fake pledges. Every other week I repeat to myself, "It should not matter to me... I should stop doing this or that... blah blah and more such blah". Nevertheless, every other week I witness a repeat telecast of the same dramas with the same climaxes that I have watched for about a thousand and a half times. Perhaps, I secretly hope and pray that may be, just may be, this time all this will end differently. In vain. This time as well I want to tell myself, "Listen you! You will not do this again." But I cannot find enough courage in me.

My tragedy is that my feelings are locked in a box whose keys were never given to me. My tragedy, my dear, is that my justifications are never good enough. My tragedy, my dear, is that no matter how groundless your reasons are they are always good enough. My tragedy, my dear, is that my words are delivered from my fingers only. My tragedy, my dear, is that my tongue refuses to cater to my words. My tragedy, my dear, is that even when I am right, you coax me into believing otherwise. My tragedy, my dear, is you.

I am not wrong but I am unable to prove myself right. And as far as I have experienced, you are not innocent until proved guilty. You are guilty until proved innocent. It does not matter how loud I scream my innocence out. I need an alibi - that is good enough. Where will I ever get an alibi that is better than yours? Nowhere.

I wish you knew how tired I am. I am tired of being wrong. I am tired of being sorry. I am tired. And so is the reader.